


Edges Frayed and Lost

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [41]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9301538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: Sometimes you do not notice someone is leaving until it is already far too late to stop the process.  Or - Curumo has very (very) bad timing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was prompted by Naamah_Beherit a while ago, when we were - I think? - discussing, again, this little sort-of-crush Curumo (probably) had on Mairon way back when. Our discussion then came around to, “well, what if he stumbled in on Mairon while he was defecting?”...and this happened.
> 
> I upped the rating a little here because Sauron is Sauron, and he is Not Nice, especially so to Curumo in this story. No specific warnings apply, I don’t think, but Mairon does take advantage of some things he should not. The Mairon/Curumo is definitely unrequited, and will be nonexistent by the end; the Mairon/Melkor is implied.
> 
> Enjoy!

Curumo walked quietly through the halls, a lightness to his step as he turned a corner.  It was late - far later than he would visit most of his friends - though he could safely assume Mairon would be awake just as he was, and likely only occupied with reading or tinkering with his own smaller projects.  Curumo had been alone in the forge minutes previous, and he clutched his latest creation tightly in both hands as excitement spurred him onward.  He could already hear Mairon’s quiet praise, the soft words of approval at his improving work, and he smiled as he quickened his pace, eager to hear such things spoken aloud.

The halls were empty and silent, the hour turning most of his fellow Maiar indoors to their own quarters and to more private company rather than the bustling activities of earlier when such pursuits were busiest.  Mairon’s door, just as all the others on this wing, was closed, but there was a soft light from underneath and Curumo knocked without hesitation.

The door was not as closed as he had first thought, and the pressure of his knuckle against the wood nudged it open slightly.

“Mairon?” he asked politely, pushing the door open enough to peer inside.  “Might I come inside?  The latch was unlocked, I - ”

Whatever he was about to say shriveled on his tongue.  The room was torn apart, drawers and cabinets open with their contents scattered across the floor, books pulled out and thrown onto the bed, various pieces of jewelry he had never seen before in a heap on the workdesk by the window.  Mairon was sorting through the latter mess quickly, picking up pieces and tossing them aside.  A bag was in his unoccupied hand, another rucksack already stuffed with clothing and books waiting by the door leading to the veranda.

All of his worldly possessions laid bare.

Mairon looked up quickly when Curumo entered the room, a startled expression on his face.  There was something about him in that moment that gave Curumo pause, an air of wild abandon and recklessness that he had never before sensed in the usually calm and controlled demeanor he was so drawn by.  That calmness was there, certainly, but it was harsh and cold when before he had always been so very warm.

“What are you doing here?”  The question was abrupt and almost angry, and Mairon’s eyebrows narrowed as they stared at one another.

“Has - has someone rifled through your things?” Curumo asked dumbly, at a loss of what to say.

“No.”

He went back to the gold and silver on the table, picking up a long, thin chain studded with rubies and studying it in the firelight.  His hair was loose, the deep reds and auburns glowing together as he moved, strands falling over his shoulder carelessly in a sight so rarely observed; a stark contrast to the tight braids he usually wore pinned about his head.  And his clothes, Curumo realized - he was wearing robes he’d never seen before, not marked with the crest of Aulë as theirs always were but instead a tunic of rich, dark velvet trimmed with satin, his breeches soft leather.  He looked regal and powerful, and Curumo clutched at the little metal figure in his hands.

But he did not leave, even as his thoughts began to spin and his heart began to pound with uncertainty.  Instead, he stepped further into the room and set the little figure on top of a set of drawers, noticing briefly how everything that had once been set atop the wooden surface had been swept to the floor in haste.  Curumo looked back to Mairon, who was still ignoring him quite clearly.

“What are you doing?” he implored, attempting the same gentle tone Mairon used to great success with him in the past.  “Are you - are you going into the mines again for Master Aulë?”

Mairon snorted derisively, taking a moment to fold the jewelry in his hand - those pieces that passed his unbelievably high standards - into the bag he still held.  It was nearly full.  “Yes, Curumo,” he said snidely, “I am going on a little trip for _Master Aulë_.”

The words stung much more than he expected them to, and Curumo bit his lip as a terrible lump grasped at his throat.  Mairon spun, suddenly catching sight of him standing there, and his confident steps faltered for just a moment.  For that fleeting breath, Curumo saw the friend he had known for so long, and he grasped onto that familiarity even as Mairon turned again and paced quickly to the books still tossed across the bed.

Silence spread between them like an ill thing.  Mairon squeezed his eyes closed and sighed as the air poisoned, thick and heavy.  “I was not expecting anyone to come now,” he muttered, his voice still just as detached as before.  He went quickly back to his books, picking them up and throwing them aside.  “No one was meant to notice my departure for a while yet.  You need to leave, Curumo.  I do not have time for you any longer.”

“But -”  Once again, the words he wished to say curdled in his mouth, and Curumo swallowed loudly and clenched his jaw for a moment, gathering what courage he thought he may need.  “But wherever are you going?” he finally asked, far more boldly than he felt.

“Somewhere far from here,” Mairon replied tersely.

“But -”

“ _Curumo_!”  

Whatever he was going to say was cut short by Mairon’s fierce, angry cry.  He looked up quickly, startled by the fury in the one word - his name - and saw his friend staring at him with such hatred, such _abhorrence_ , that he took a full step backward toward the door again.  Mairon’s eyes were burning, their depths severe and alive in a way Curumo had never understood before that moment.  For the first time, he was afraid.

Mairon took a sharp breath, visibly calming himself, and continued in a softer, though not at all gentler, tone.  “Do not ask me that question again.  You will not get an answer you wish to hear.”  He paused for just a moment before adding, “You had best leave now, Curumo.”

Curumo opened his mouth to respond, but Mairon was swiftly walking around the bed toward him, his back straight and his steps sure.  Curumo fumbled backward again, his breath hitching once in his throat.  Very quickly, a thought snapped into place in his mind and the words tumbled from his mouth before he could parse them properly, give them any filter.

“It is Lord Melkor, isn’t it?” he asked, voice trembling.  

Mairon stopped, so close he would only need to reach out a small distance to touch Curumo’s shoulder, but something flickered over the other Maia’s face then, a brief spark in those frightening eyes.  Curumo blinked quickly, remembering dark shapes through shadows as he entered rooms, recalling Mairon’s blithe words on the subject as it was brought up so many times before, odd gifts left in strange places, new talents and metals and gems and so many other things that suddenly made sense in a cold, horrible way.  

Curumo felt his posture going rigid, and he bit out, “You are leaving us for him.  Aren’t you?”

Mairon’s arm raised faster than Curumo could avoid it, and before he fully realized what was happening, a warm hand was cupping his chin tightly, tipping his gaze upward.  Their eyes met, those smoulders of fury boring into his own.  Curumo tired to turn his face away, but Mairon’s grasp was tight as the iron they worked with.

“You think you understand,” Mairon murmured, his breath hot upon Curumo’s cheek.  The sensation sent unpleasant jolts through his body, and it ached deeply to think this touch once would have given him such great pleasure.  Mairon smiled, a slight twisting of his lips, and Curumo knew he was imagining the same thing, his closest secret now a mockery.  “You, my dear Curumo,” he whispered, leaning closer, “you understand _nothing_.  Remember that, when the time comes.”

He tugged harder on Curumo’s chin just once, enough to pull him in and press their lips together roughly.  Curumo inhaled sharply through his nose with surprise, thinking again to struggle with what weak fight he had, but Mairon was already breaking away with a harsh chuckle.  “I think, perhaps, you should leave now, as I have already asked you to do.  Yes?”

He released his grip abruptly, shoving Curumo away as he did.  Curumo stumbled, eyes wide and heart thumping so hard with panic it hurt.   

“Regards, Curumo.”

Mairon was already turned around again, not giving him any more attention as he shoved items off the bed onto the floor with a loud, irritated clatter.  Curumo spun and yanked the door open, spilling himself out into the hallway on legs that felt too feeble to hold him steady as he fumbled blindly away.

He should alert someone, he knew he should.  Aulë.  More of the Maiar, at the very least.

But all he could do, as he finally rounded the corner out of the living hall and into one of Yavanna’s lush gardens, into the scents of greenery and fruits and flowers and trees to fill his nose into his lungs, was sink down into the grass and sob.  It wasn’t until that moment he remembered his little metal figure, still set atop the chest of drawers in Mairon’s room like a pitiful reminder of everything he had lost in the turn of only a few scattered minutes, already frayed at the edges.  



End file.
